


Gray Matter

by unfortunate17



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, I-definitely-don't-have-a-praise-kink-okay-maybe-I-do!Anakin, M/M, Mild D/s, Ofc they fall in love too, Soft-Dom!Obi-Wan, That's Not How The Force Works, The Force Ships It, Yes the body swapping results in ani and obi understanding each other, bodyswap au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26781706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunate17/pseuds/unfortunate17
Summary: “Master? Is that you?”It’s too dark in the hole the blast has created for them to make out any details, but Obi-Wan can see a dark silhouette finally get to his feet a few feet away from him. The figure is too short, not quite lean enough, to be Anakin. Obi-Wan watches helplessly as Anakin – or should he say, himself – steps into the faint light emanating from the holocron.There’s a long moment of silence, broken only by Anakin saying, voice still hoarse but distinctively Obi-Wan-esque, “What in sithhells is going on?”--Or, in which Anakin touches a dangerous force object and now him and Obi-Wan are trapped in each other’s bodies until something, or someone, can find a solution to their predicament. But before they can, they're both going to make some eye-opening discoveries about the other.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Mace Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 58
Kudos: 628





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Star Wars fic, so apologize in advance if Anakin, Obi-Wan, Padme, Ahsoka, or anyone really, is out of character. I spent a long time tossing and turning over whether I should post this or not, but eventually decided it was worth a shot. Hopefully you enjoy reading.
> 
> I haven't seen all the Star Wars movies, they were a little before my time and I grew up in a family of immigrants so neither of my parents really cared of them. My brother & I did religiously watch (and re-watch) Clone Wars, so all of my Star Wars knowledge comes from either there or anything I've picked up from reading fic. Sorry if I get anything wrong! 
> 
> Oh and if you're seeing this after reading my 1D fics, no you aren't.

Everything begins, as it so often does, with Anakin disobeying direct orders.

Sometimes, Obi-Wan thinks that Anakin is keeping count, the way him and Ahsoka used to keep track of the number of droids they cut down - except this game is just for Anakin. Seventeen rules broken, four headaches for Master Windu, and a concussion for Obi-Wan. All in a day’s work for his former padawan.

The holocron had been hovering ominously, entrapped in the light coming from the surface above, on a moon Yoda had insisted they needed to investigate. Battle worn and tired as he was, Obi-Wan wasn’t about to disregard the orders of his grandmaster. But _Anakin –_ oh _Anakin_ – had no such qualms.

It was supposed to be a quick stop on the way back to Coruscant from the last of the clean-up missions they’d been doing on Ryloth. Jahakar’s moon was only a few clicks away and had become clouded in the force. It was too close for comfort, possibly a separatist attack in the making against the capitol itself. Obi-Wan and Anakin were to investigate and report their findings back to the council.

 _“Great care we must take,”_ Yoda had said, voice solemn, “ _On you both, the fate of Coruscant may rest.”_

If they needed to take _great care,_ Obi-Wan isn’t sure why Anakin was specifically instructed not to wait on the ship with Rex and Cody. At least that way, if he broke something, it was unlikely to be an ancient dark artifact with mystical consequences.

_Back up you may need, better than one, two minds are._

When – or should he say – _If_ they get back to Coruscant, Obi-Wan is going to drop-kick the little green troll across the galaxy.

The force rolls in ominous mirth around him at the thought, and Obi-Wan can’t shake the feeling that Yoda definitely felt the tendrils of disrespect across the short space travel that separates them. He can feel the phantom whack of a gimer cane against his shin.

“Anakin,” he calls, coughing as the dust from the mini supernova-esque explosion settles into his lungs, making his voice hoarse, “Anakin, are you alright?” His senses are blown wide open for some reason, the force quivering in sensitivity in a way he has never felt before. He grapples for the training bond between them, but it’s harder to reach than usual, clouded by the swirling storm in his mind. He sighs, then coughs again, but it does nothing other than sift the fine moon debris that’s still raining down on them like snow. “ _Anakin!”_

There’s a groan somewhere to his left.

“Anakin, are you alright?” He calls again, begins to try to get his feet unsteadily, ears ringing with how hard he had hit the ground. It had felt like the holocron had been shielded by a particularly explosive force field – one that Anakin had unfortunately walked right into with a _what could possibly go wrong, Master_ look on his face.

His padawan – _knighted_ padawan he should say - had much to learn. Much to learn indeed.

Obi-Wan has just pushed up to his knees, a shaky arm lifted to wipe the sweat from his brow when he freezes. Durasteel. He brings the hand out in front of him and blinks down at it in disbelief. There in front of him is a familiar mechno-arm, the glove that normally covers it ripped from the impact of the blast. The force dances around him, almost playful in the way it brushes up against him, and nothing like the darkness that Obi-Wan had expected.

Obi-Wan takes a sharp breath, willing his heartbeat under-control. With incredulous eyes, he looks down at himself – and oh yes, his characteristic beige tunic is gone. Instead, in its place, is a _very_ familiar navy one, dark chest plating, and maroon sleeves to complete the ensemble. He can feel a migraine coming on and the force revels in his displeasure, swirling dark summer-salts of discontent. “ _Anakin!”_

“ _Master_? Is that you?” It’s too dark in the hole the blast has created for them to make out any details, but Obi-Wan can see a dark silhouette finally get to his feet a few feet away from him. The figure is too short, not quite lean enough, to be Anakin. Obi-Wan watches helplessly as Anakin – or should he say, _himself_ – steps into the faint light emanating from the holocron.

There’s a long moment of silence, broken only by Anakin saying, voice still hoarse but distinctively Obi-Wan-esque, “What in _sithhells_ is going on?”

“Language, Anakin,” he snaps, but it sounds all wrong coming from him now. There’s no lilting Coruscanti accent, only Anakin’s mood baritone. His mind whirs for a solution to their predicament and the force seems to swirl around him, uncontrollable, his panic pulsing around them in waves of desperation. “We’re going to have to go the council with this. Hopefully someone there will hear our case and – “

“ _Hopefully?”_ Anakin thunders and Obi-Wan flounders. He hasn’t heard himself speak with such anger in many years, if ever. The thought seems to cross Anakin’s mind as well, because he flinches, gray eyes widening in horror. “Alright, no yelling.” He frowns. His voice turns petulant, “It sounds like you’re mad at me.”

Obi-Wan lets out a huff of faint laughter, “Who knew this is all it would take for you to control your temper, dear one.”

Anakin makes a face at his words, “It’s so weird to hear you talk like that with my voice.” He sniffs, nose twitching, then sneezes abruptly, “All this dust is getting stuck in my beard.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, “I’ll comm Cody and let him know we’re ready to go then. Pick up that holocron will you? Hopefully there’s something in the archives about it.” He watches as his body reaches for the holocron, still suspended in the air above their heads, and notes with mild amusement that Anakin’s going to have to get used to being a whole head shorter now.

“I can feel you laughing at me from over here,” Anakin says, voice muffled as he stands on a fallen rock to help him in his endeavor. “But laugh it up old man, don’t forget this is your body you’re laughing at.”

“You mistake me, Anakin,” Obi wan grins, amused, “I’m most certainly not laughing at my body. I’m definitely laughing at you.”

“Har, har,” Anakin snarks, finally snatching the holocron out of the air. So much for the _touch the artifact and it shall reverse the process_ theory then. “Let’s get going before this thing turns one of us into a gundark.”

“With our luck, that is a very distinct possibility.” Obi-Wan sighs, gestures up to the crumbling surface from the hole the blast threw them in, “After you then.”

Anakin doesn’t need to be told twice. He tightens his grip on the holocron and with a push of the force, launches himself the twenty or so feet needed to reach the surface. Only thing is, he doesn’t make it. The jump isn’t strong enough to take him over the edge and he slams against the rocks, fingers grappling for the edge as he tries to haul himself over.

“Anakin are you alright?” Obi-Wan asks for what seems to be the fifth time in the last ten minutes.

Anakin grunts, “Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” He heaves upward, Obi-Wan’s body finally scrabbling over the edge in a most undignified manner. “What’s wrong with your connection to the force?”

Obi-Wan frowns, “Pardon?” If the holocron had somehow inhibited their connection with the force, it could have grave consequences beyond just the two of them.

Anakin’s gone for a moment before his head peeks back over the edge, “Your connection with the force is…very different than mine. A Lot more muted.” Obi-Wan holds himself very still, he will have time to dwell on those words another time. Anakin must see something in his own face because he hastily backtracks, “Not like it’s weaker or anything. Just different. Calmer. I – it’s very nice, Master, really.”

So, Obi-Wan muses, not only have he and Anakin switched bodies, but they’ve also somehow managed to switch their force signatures. That would explain how the force seems to bend for him in a way it never has before, echoing every one of his minute mood changes. His senses feel heightened, the galaxy painted with swatches of the living force, calling out to him. Obi-Wan’s never known the force to be like this before and it is as exhilarating as it is exhausting.

Anakin barks out a laugh, “Why yes, Master, it is very exciting to be me. Glad you’re finally catching on. Now come on up.”

Obi-Wan feels his cheeks warm and the force blushes around him, coloring itself in embarrassment. “Honestly, Anakin. It’s no more exciting to be you than – “

But he’s cut off. Anakin’s laughter is even louder now, “Master, I’m going to have to teach you how to shield. Can’t have you going to the council like this now can I?”

Obi-Wan huffs. First he needs to get out of this force-forsaken, cursed hole in the ground. He bends his knees, Anakin’s lanky frame lighter in weight than his own, and pushes off the ground. But clearly, he’s overshot the landing because he ends up crashing into Anakin, both off them sprawled across the barren surface of the moon.

They’re far too close now, Obi-Wan can see the way a blush is creeping up his cheeks at the contact. He sighs. Again. “I really do hate your body.”

He feels Anakin’s – or his own – chest under him rumble in amusement. Obi-Wan hopes to every force deity out there that he’s not projecting too much of this strange body’s reaction to the laugh. Warm breath fans across his face. “Sure you do, Obi-Wan, sure you do.”

**. . . . . .**

Cody doesn’t really ask for much. He wants equipment and weaponry checks to happen every two weeks or after any major skirmish like protocol demands, all the troopers under his command to receive a fair rotation on and off combat duty (including the dreaded patrol duty), and for his general to stay alive long enough for this kriffing war to be over. His demands shouldn’t be considered outrageous by any degree, but somehow, more often than not, they are.

Coincidentally, the most trying times are always whenever the 212th are deployed with the 501st and his general’s wayward ex-apprentice decides to join in on as many hair-brained schemes as he can possibly cook up. Truthfully, Cody genuinely misses the young Commander Tano, who had a deviously mischievous streak a mile deep, but didn’t teeter towards suicide like General Skywalker did. She managed to keep everyone in line in a way neither him nor Rex seems to have a knack for.

When the general comms him asking him to clear the bridge of any trooper besides him and Rex, he sounds distinctively unlike himself. Cody rolls his eyes, thanks the force he’s still alive after that blast they could see all the way from the low orbit the ship is in, and goes to pick him up. Unfortunately, it seems that now, his general is general Skywalker and general Skywalker is his general. And now they want him and Rex to hold onto a godforsaken sith artifact while they report to the council that somehow, they’ve managed to _switch bodies._

General Skywalker – or should he say General Kenobi – shakes his head at him with a maturity and grace that Cody is sure Skywalker will never be able to achieve, “It’s all Anakin’s fault,” he says as if he’s not speaking as Anakin himself. Cody’s going to need a strong cup of caf after this is all over. “As usual.”

“Speak for yourself,” grumbles Anakin, juggling the artifact as he tries to strip off General Kenobi’s boots. Cody is truly astounded how Skywalker can make anyone sound like a child left out in the rain. “If you were so sure it was dangerous, you should’ve stopped me.”

“Need I remind you, I tried – multiple times in fact,” Kenobi shoots back. It’s odd to see them argue now. To an outsider, it seems as though Cody’s general is the one who can’t control his temper. Then again, stranger things have probably happened.

Cody can see General Skywalker trying to hand him the holocron, so he makes himself as busy as possible, checking the bridge to make sure no other troopers are lagging to accidentally catch the show. He had promised General Kenobi secrecy for the time being. So, Skywalker holds out the holocron to Rex instead.

Rex looks at the holocron warily, “With all due respect generals, I don’t want anything to do with that thing. I’d reckon Cody here feels the same way.”

Cody almost snorts, leave it to Rex to be as blunt as possible. “Imagine if what happened to the two of you happened to me and Rex, sir.”

His general laughs, “Right they are, Anakin. Alright, lock that thing up in your – er, mine? – no, your quarters and I’ll meet you back here on the bridge in say, ten minutes.” Kenobi’s tone turns slightly grimmer, “I’ll send word to the temple and set up an emergency council meeting. Master Yoda will no doubt need to be informed.” 

**. . . . . .**

Once the initial hysteria and incredulousness has worn off, Obi-Wan finally has a moment to breathe. He’s waiting for Anakin to return, standing in front of the holo-projector on the bridge. Cody and Rex have left, wandered off to gossip no doubt about it. He sighs and flexes Anakin’s mechno-arm. It aches, he realizes dimly. It aches, always, and Anakin has never once mentioned it to him.

The force around him is constantly churning, wave upon wave of energy flows through him, making him sick to his stomach. The bond between them, always so bright and alive to him, is darker here. Colder, like it hasn’t been lit up in a long time. Obi-Wan knows he’s more closed off than Anakin is, keeps his shields tightened at all times, except when they go slightly lax in his sleep. But he’d always thought the bond felt the same to Anakin as it had to him, thought that Anakin felt as loved and wanted as he did. 

He frowns deeply, wondering what other unpleasant discoveries he’s going to make over the course of however long this is going to last. It feels like an invasion of privacy.

The force ripples dangerously around him, rising up to heighten his bad mood, fueling it with the anger and frustration Obi-Wan has buried deep within him. He tries to close himself off, bring up his shields, and quietly release his negativity to the force as he has done for decades. But clearly, the force doesn’t work the same with Anakin, because the emotions are snapped back at him ferociously, like a rubber band that’s been pulled too taut.

It’s at this moment that the bridge door slides open and Anakin steps through. Obi-Wan realizes with a jolt that he looks exhausted, the contrast between his general paleness and dark under-eyes even more pronounced in the unflattering overhead lighting. Maybe, he thinks wryly, this is why Anakin always asked him if he had gotten any sleep.

“Master,” Anakin dips his head in greeting. “Is the council ready to see us?”

“We only need to say the word,” Obi-Wan says, “I’m sure they’ll all be attending this one, even Master Ti from Kamino. I sent a message ahead, Master Windu is most concerned.” It’s disconcerting to hear Anakin’s voice say _Master Windu_ with this much respect. Obi-Wan wonders, again, how things had gone so wrong.

“I’m sure Windu is concerned,” Anakin pulls a distinctly un-Obi-Wan like face of disgust, “When is he not?”

Obi-Wan sighs, deciding to let the matter go. It was no use forcing Anakin to pay respects where he clearly had none. He doesn’t think anyone has that kind of power over Anakin. Personally, he’s always had a soft spot for Mace Windu, especially since the loss of Depa a few months ago. He’d caught Mace more than once in the halls of healing, his forehead resting against Depa’s through the glass of the bacta tank as he murmured reassurances to her. Unfortunately, Anakin’s good opinion, once lost, was usually lost for good.

He dials into the call, opening up the holo-projector link on their side. At once, he can see a fully assembled council – everyone is present in person, except for Master Ti who has clearly dialed in from Kamino. It’s a rare sight, most of the council chairs are empty due to the war. But then again, Coruscant has just been threatened so security has been tight these past few weeks.

“Masters,” he nods respectively and the effect is immediate. An alarming vein pops out of Mace Windu’s forehead like he’s truly distressed at Anakin’s voice addressing him respectfully, and Obi-Wan’s sure Master Plo is smiling under his anti-ox mask. “We’ve had a bit of a predicament on Jahakar’s moon. You see –“

“By predicament he means I touched a sith holocron and now he’s me and I’m him,” Anakin interjects rudely.

Obi-Wan’s shoulders drop in defeat. He never had been successful on getting his padawan to hold his tongue. “Crudely explained as it was, that just about sums it up.”

He can see Yoda curled into his chair, seemingly deep in thought. Windu’s the one that speaks up, “I see.” He strokes his chin and Obi-Wan feels a deep pang of longing for his own beard. Anakin sends him a brush of amusement along their bond and he realizes a little too late that he’s probably projecting again. “Anything else unusual? About the moon perhaps, or the object in question?”

“Besides the obvious issue at hand,” Obi-Wan says, “Not really.” He can see his own face pull into a frown at his side and he turns to give Anakin his attention. “Anakin?”

Anakin pulls Obi-Wan’s face into an even deeper frown and its odd to see himself think without stroking his heard. “Our force signatures are mixed up,” he says, and oh, how could Obi-Wan have forgotten that minor detail. “I’m still me and he’s still himself, but – the way we interact with the force, the bond – it’s all swapped.”

Obi-Wan feels the council take in and hold a collective breath. One’s force signature is deeply personal, a fingerprint and blueprint for one’s mind all rolled into one. Sharing it, understanding another’s signature as one’s own, is unthinkable. He wonders what Anakin thinks of his own. With how alive he’s felt, how open Obi-Wan’s senses are, he thinks Anakin must feel like he’s stumbling blind through the world. 

The thought is – embarrassing, painful, Obi-Wan realizes, flushing with shame. Then again, it shouldn’t come as such a surprise. He remembers when he stood in front of the council, adamant that he would be the one to train Anakin, that Qui-Gon had asked it of him with his dying breath, when everyone on the council thought that if Anakin were to be trained at all, it should be with a more experienced Master. Obi-Wan was just a boy, freshly out of his padawan days, his terrible haircut not even grown out, when he’d started to train the Chosen One.

It’s not unthinkable that Anakin’s connection and skill with the force to have far overtaken his own, he realizes with a swoop of unworthiness hollowing out his stomach. The chatter of the council, their current predicament, everything feels far away now, his mind rushing with the unsteadiness of his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, tries to center himself, but the strength of the force at his fingertips is _overwhelming_.

He can feel Anakin projecting concern, but everything is distant, he cannot break through the maelstrom in his mind. He tries again to let go of his negativity into the force, but the force whips his emotions back at him, almost as if it wants him to feel every bit of it.

“ - Master Kenobi? Do you agree?” It’s Master Plo. The whole council is focused on him, Yoda still sitting in contemplative silence. It’s obvious he’s been caught not paying attention and Obi-Wan can see the irritation on Master Windu’s face.

He pushes down the nausea and tries to focus at the issue at hand. “Er – yes of course.” He feels a warm hand on his shoulder, Anakin reaching out to him in comfort.

“We’ll make sure this remains confidential to anyone outside the Council. Only Rex and Cody know, but that was inevitable. We’ll have the holocron back at the temple in about seven hours,” Anakin says, checking the ship’s chronometer. His voice is level, smooth – he sounds like Obi-Wan expects that he himself sounds like and he feels a rush of fondness for Anakin. Anakin, who has volatile and unpredictable as he is, has a heart of gold and always willing to shoulder Obi-Wan’s burdens when they’re too much for him. Anakin who he sometimes thinks he might -

“Very well then, young Skywalker,” Windu breaks in. His gaze shifts between the both of them warily, like he’s waiting for them to spring more surprises on them. “May the force be with you both.”

“And with you,” Obi-Wan manages, voice hoarse, and the connection goes dark.

There’s a moment of silence.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, voice far too gentle than anything he’s heard Anakin use in the past. He opens his mouth to say more, but seems to think better of it. It’s amazing how expressive Anakin is, he’s emoted more in terms of facial expressions than Obi-Wan thinks he has since the war began.

And, suddenly, all he can think of is a young Anakin, gazing off into the distance during council meetings, his presence lost deep in the force. Anakin, struggling to focus during meditations, struggling with control, with his anger, not understanding what it means to release his emotions to the force. And Obi-Wan never knew, never understood, never even _cared_ to understand, what his dear Anakin had been dealing with.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan says slowly. Anakin’s presence grounds him, his attention an anchor in the churning waters. He reaches for their dull training bond, uses it to pull his spirit upright. “But I do think I owe you an apology, dear one.”

Anakin looks stricken, “What for master?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head and he’s never hated himself more. “All those times I lectured you for loosing focus because I thought you simply didn’t want to learn. That you wanted to act out for the sake of it. I never understood how difficult – “

“Master,” Anakin interrupts, lifting his other hand to settle on Obi-Wan’s unoccupied shoulder. He brings him closer, the two of them facing each other with nothing but a few force-forsaken inches between them. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Obi-Wan. The force’s always been difficult for me to understand. There’s no way you could have possibly known. For once, don’t blame yourself for something you had no possible way of understanding.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers twitch, and he hesitates for a brief moment before reaching up to place a hand on Anakin’s elbow. He looks into his own gray-blue eyes, finds them swimming with an emotion that he knows is probably mirrored in Anakin’s eyes.

“Let me set up the nav computer,” Anakin says at last, sounding every bit like the teacher Obi-Wan thinks he sounds like, “Then we can work on the shielding.”

And for the first time, Obi-Wan wonders how Anakin is dealing with his force signature.

**. . . . . .**

Anakin punches Coruscant’s coordinates into the nav computer with Obi-Wans fingers, setting up the fuel thrusters to conserve as much fuel as possible. He knows that means it’ll take them many extra hours to reach the temple, but he’d rather have a chance for Obi-Wan to learn how to shield Anakin’s force signature from prying eyes before they’re surrounded by curious Jedi. Obi-Wan had panicked during the holocall, no doubt overwhelmed by Anakin’s lack of control.

He takes a deep breath, calms himself, and marvels at the way the force simply flows through him in like a tranquil spring breeze. It’s light, airy, and _accepting_ in a way he’s never known before. Is this what it meant to truly be a Jedi master? Because if it is, Anakin finally understands why even though the Supreme Chancellor applauds his skill, the sense of awe isn’t shared by any of the other masters on the council.

He’s too volatile, uncontrolled, probably all that fear and anger Windu and Yoda keep talking about. Feelings that he thinks managed to keep a pretty tight lid on. Despite being known for his dramatic outbursts, Anakin always told himself that it was ok, Obi-Wan didn’t know the depths of his emotions, his complete lack of restraint. He’s not sure if he’d ever have been knighted if Obi-Wan truly understood.

Except, now here they are.

He saw the way Obi-Wan had buckled under his force signature, looking dazed and unfocused. He was _frightened_ and Anakin has never hated himself more. He looks down at Obi-Wans hands, the smooth palms, lightly calloused fingertips, rubs them together. For how long had he wondered what they would feel like holding his own, pressed to the small of his back, cupping his cheeks. And now the force has given him everything he’s ever wanted; he gets to touch Obi-Wan as much as he pleases during this time and cruelly reaps none of the benefits.

“Maybe I really should get rid of the beard,” Anakin hears his own heavy footsteps made quiet by Obi-Wan’s grace, “Not sure it really suits me.” Obi-Wan is grinning, reaches out to take hold of his chin and tilts his head back.

Anakin finds himself looking into his own face. Has his hair always been quite that unruly? He frowns, “Why?” He reaches up to touch the soft bristles at his chin, careful to avoid the hands that hold his face, “I like it.”

Obi-Wan’s smile changes Anakin’s face, makes him look far more handsome than he knows he is. “That’s kind of you, dear one.” The endearment still makes a shiver crawl up his spine and he wishes that he could hear it in Obi-Wans soft, Coruscanti accent again. “But a good trim is clearly long overdue.” Obi-Wan drops his hand to look out the viewport.

Anakin’s face tingles where Obi-Wan’s fingers had been. “You look fine as you are,” he insists and relishes the appreciative smile Obi-Wan gives him in return. “I’m the one that needs a haircut.”

Obi-Wan laughs lightly, runs his fingers through Anakin’s unruly curls and Anakin curses their predicament once again. “You may have the right idea there, my very dear padawan.”

Suddenly, he’s afraid of what Obi-Wan will find if he opens himself up to the force. Especially if he goes looking during a moment of _aroused_ weakness. The force might ruin their relationship with one ripe fantasy or wayward dream and it won’t even be Anakin’s fault. “Master,” he begins, hesitant but determined, “I – was wondering – if, if – “. He’s never been good with words, not in the way Obi-Wan is, and especially not if they’re about anything personal or vulnerable.

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan turns to face him, and Anakin can feel the warm calm he’s trying to project towards him. But, under the thinly veiled reassurance, is Anakin’s tumultuousness. Maybe that’s why Obi-Wan had slowly been closing off his end of their bond over the years. His unguarded energy must be exhausting to be around constantly, even after Anakin had learned to tweak Obi-Wan’s shielding techniques to his needs.

Anakin swallows, “While we’re like this, Master. Can we – uh, _refrain_ from doing _those_ things. I know you’re going to say it’s a natural release,” he says hastily and can feel his cheeks warming, Obi-Wan’s pale skin much more susceptible to a pink flush than his own sun-bronzed complexation, “but I would really appreciate it if we didn’t, you know – “

Thankfully, Obi-Wan spares him. He holds up a hand, a slightly amused smirk curling the side of his mouth. It’s the most Anakin expression he’s made yet. “Anakin, you don’t have to worry. You can trust me to not take advantage of you.”

“You can’t, you know, _look_ ,” Anakin says childishly, ignoring the sly rise of an eyebrow he can see on his own face. He wants to hit himself. “I mean – at least not on purpose.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s aiming for reassuring, but Anakin can recognize his own _I’m bullshitting you_ tone anywhere, “I certainly won’t be _looking_ but we don’t know how long this’ll take to be reversed and I’m certainly not going to forgo a shower for the remainder of – “

“ _Master.”_

“ _Anakin.”_

Anakin finally understands why Mace Windu hates the sound of his voice. “Fine,” he gripes, peeved, face hot, “But don’t run to me because you’re self-conscious about it when you do.”

Obi-Wan booms out a laugh and Anakin relishes being able to bring him happiness, even at a time like this. “I won’t, dear one. Now, you promised to show me a shielding technique?”

**. . . . . .**

After a trip to the refresher where Anakin absolutely, positively did _not_ look _,_ they sit down in Obi-Wan’s quarters to mediate and work on the shielding technique Anakin had told Obi-Wan about. Anakin wants to use his own room for a semblance of familiarity, but Obi-Wan wrinkles his nose at the mess of littered droid parts and sweeps them to his own, much neater quarters.

Anakin follows reluctantly, shaking hands folded into his robes the way he’s seen Obi-Wan do an innumerable amount of times. For once he’s glad that Obi-Wan seems lost in thought, hopes that that his flushed skin can be attributed to a warm shower and not the orgasm he’d just had.

Anakin would hate himself if he could actually bring himself to regret it. He’d stepped into the refresher, fully intent on following through with his and Obi-Wan’s agreement until he had pulled off Obi-Wan’s tunic. Under the tunic lay a vast expanse of pale, freckled skin and taut muscles. The length of Obi-Wan’s cock, so different, yet so similar to his own. The way Obi-Wan’s skin flushed pink with blood when he got close, his body appreciating a slightly different twist of the wrist –

It was maddening. Obi-Wan’s body has shattered his resolve.

“Come, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, gesturing to the open space on his meditation mat in front of him. “Sit.”

Anakin sinks down wordlessly onto the mat, scooting close enough that their knees are brushing. If Obi-Wan has any thoughts about the contact, he doesn’t comment. His force signature lingers pleasantly around Anakin and Anakin opens Obi-Wan’s end of their bond in his mind, pushing across feelings of contentment. He feels Obi-Wan open the other end of the bond to accept, an easy comradery establishing itself between them.

With a brief smile, Anakin closes his eyes, and opens himself up to the force. His presence filters smoothly, dissipating between the waves of the force that surround him until they become indistinguishable from each other. He’s never sunk into the force as quickly as this before and once again, he finds himself admiring Obi-Wan’s control. Anakin finds the glowing end of their bond, pleased that Obi-Wan’s end is still lit up and bright even while he knows that the bond on his end is a lot duller and muted. Another failure that he knows will not slip past Obi-Wan’s keen senses. He tugs the bond gently and can feel his own whirlwind of a force presence enter his mind, Obi-Wan doing the best he can to guide it.

 _Let it carry you,_ he tells Obi-Wan, creating a soft space in his mind for Obi-Wan to fall into, _don’t try to control it._

He can feel Obi-Wan flounder a bit, but eventually the constant stream of reassurance Anakin is sending through their bond seems to quiet him. He can hear Obi-Wan hum appreciatively when their minds finally blend into one, their force presences curled around one another like two old loth cats.

 _Better?_ He asks.

 _Better, dear one._ Obi-Wan confirms. In the real world, Anakin feels Obi-Wan shift a hairsbreadth closer, their knees now pressed together firmly. _Although_ _I – I struggle to build and maintain your shields._

 _Don’t try to keep the force out, it won’t work,_ Anakin advises him. _Your shields should be like filters. You can layer them for strength, or remove them as you wish. But the force will always flow through you in anyway it wishes, you just need to learn to create filters for your emotions and anything else you don’t want to project to the Council._

He feels more than hears Obi-Wan’s shocked intake, forcing the embarrassment he feels not to bleed through their bond. It’s a lot easier when he’s in Obi-Wans body. _Master?_

 _I’m alright Anakin,_ Obi-Wan responds, and the storm is getting calmer. Anakin feels him tug at their bond, _I do have you to guide me, don’t I?_

This time, Anakin doesn’t hold back, allows the warmth pooling in his stomach to echo around them. He’s rewarded with a gentle hand on his knee, a thumb stroking twice before Obi-Wan is retreating his hand with a slight tinge of embarrassment coloring the force a sweet, summer pink.

Anakin feels the ghost of the touch all the way back to Coruscant. 

**. . . . . .**

It’s only hours later, when Coruscant’s bright lights are filling the viewport, that Obi-Wan finds Anakin again. They’d retreated to their quarters because Anakin had complained that he was absolutely exhausted and demanded when the last time Obi-Wan’s body had managed to catch a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Obi-Wan had colored the force green with his sheepishness and with an unimpressed look thrown his way, Anakin had left to lie down, demanding that Obi-Wan treat his body better than he clearly treated his own.

Not that Anakin had to ask him of this. The thought had already crossed his mind – _hurting_ Anakin in any way, intentional or not, was simply unacceptable. Anakin was far too dear to him, precious, loved. Obi-Wan would give anything for him.

The ship gets ready to dock in the private temple hanger – it’s empty now, save for him and Anakin. They’ve dropped the rest of the 212th and 501st off at a military base a few levels down, Cody and Rex promising to keep the troops out of any real trouble until Anakin and Obi-Wan were un-grounded from Coruscant due to their unfortunate accident.

Anakin has engaged the autopilot, the ship nearing their destination, when he looks over and catches Obi-Wan flexing and un-flexing the fingers of his mechno-arm. Obi-Wan meets his gaze, stricken, and he sees his own eyes narrow in an expression he’s sure Anakin has seen many times.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin sounds exasperated, “You didn’t tell me my hand was bothering you. What happened to treating my body like the temple it is?”

The words are teasing, but Obi-Wan flushes anyway. He has a strong feeling the dual meaning isn’t lost on either of them, “ _You_ never told _me_ when you were in pain.” He sounds petulant, the trait probably runs in Anakin’s DNA.

Anakin lets out a huff of air and Obi-Wan wonders, not for the first time, whether he’s actually handsome or if Anakin’s expressiveness brings out the best in him. He has a feeling it’s the latter. “Here,” he reaches for Obi-Wan’s mechno-arm, holding it gently in his hand while he rummages through a drawer. He makes a slight noise of triumph, pulling out a set of tools, “Hold still now, Master. Wouldn’t want to cripple you.”

Obi-Wan watches him as he gently pulls apart the plating, presumably so that he can re-wire the neuro-links. “Thank you, dear one.”

Anakin looks up at him, the smile on his face far too young for the beard he’s sporting. “Only the best for you, Obi-Wan.”

**. . . . . .**

The first few nights, Obi-Wan doesn’t sleep that well and he has no idea how Anakin seemingly has had no issues. The force is loud, bright, like a star during the day. But, _maybe,_ he’s simply blaming his chronic insomnia on Anakin’s unfamiliar force signature. It’s not like he was any good at falling asleep before.

He’s worried, as always. About the war, about Anakin, about how this situation has thrown them for an unexpected loop. He hopes Anakin isn’t struggling like he is, hopes that he finds being Obi-Wan boring enough to get some rest.

The force rolls ominously at his thoughts and he flinches, tries to calm his mind. Construct the porous shields that Anakin has taught him to create. And yet – he lies awake, shivering with cold sweat. He rolls over, fluffing the pillow and stripping off a layer of blankets because Anakin’s body runs far hotter than his. And that’s when he feels it.

At first, it’s just a niggling in the back of his mind, like someone tugging at something in his brain. Then, it’s a bright warm link that he can see, emerging from the depths of his mind, made gold with love and affection – a training bond. One far brighter than the one he and Anakin share.

_Ahsoka._

_Master,_ her voice filters though, clear and sweet and worried. Obi-Wan feels emotion build up in his throat at the thought of what happened to this dear child. Anakin hadn’t spoken to anyone for weeks at first, and suddenly, Obi-Wan is so, _so_ glad for Anakin’s recklessness, his blatant disobeying of the Council. He’s sure that Anakin has been ordered to sever the bond, but here it is, alive and teeming with life. _Master you seem restless. I mean – more than usual._

 _I’m fine,_ Obi-Wan sends back. It’s not difficult to connect with this bond and he feels the familiar pang of loss. What has happened between him and Anakin when he wasn’t paying attention? _How’re you doing, Snips? Need anything?_

The nickname seems wrong to use, too sacred, but he’s not Anakin, disobeying doesn’t come naturally to him. Obi-Wan can’t give himself away. It’s too risky.

 _No, Master_ , comes the reply, _though more credits would always be nice. I sold the speeder you told Padmé to give me after making those engine modifications you said would make it run smoother. I’m getting pretty good at being a mechanic - maybe even better than you._

Ah, like master, like apprentice then. Obi-Wan feels pride swell in his chest. _That’s good to hear, Ahsoka._ He hesitates, hopes the question won’t blow his facade wide open - but he must know. _When are you coming back?_

A ripple of emotions dance across the bond, Obi-Wan only managing to catch guilt-love-resentment. _I don’t know_ , Ahsoka sends _, I need time. But if you need me, I’ll be there_.

 _I know_ , Obi-Wan says. His eyes sting with unshed tears. He sends her all the love and affection he has, although it probably pales in comparison to what Anakin really feels for her. He feels Ahsoka ground him in the force with her calm energy. She accepts his emotions serenely, pushing back a flood of loyalty and love.

 _Get some rest Master_ , she says gently, _and remember what we talked about - I left the Order, not you_.

The next morning Obi-Wan debates mentioning the incident to Anakin for a long time, but eventually decides that Anakin deserves to know. After he re-enacts the story, Anakin looks at him for a long time.

“Thank you for telling me,” he nods, suddenly formal. “We check in on each other every now and then. Just to be sure.”

“What we did to her was wrong,” Obi-Wan says finally, the long overdue words feel good in his mouth, right.

Anakin sends him a wry smile, “I’m glad you finally admit it.” He shakes his head, “She’s doing good now and that’s all that matters. Even thinking about coming back someday.”

“She will be welcomed,” Obi-Wan says softly, puts a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. It’s strange to see Anakin in beige - when he’d thought about Anakin in his clothes, this wasn’t quite what he’d imagined.

“She better be.”

**. . . . . .**

This is it, Obi-Wan thinks. This is the very moment he’s been dreading since Anakin decided to touch a sith holocron and ruin their lives. Yoda had determined that until they uncovered the reason behind the switch, they needed to keep everything a secret. Obi-Wan and Anakin must continue to maintain the façade of being each other for the sake of secrecy. Who knew how this sort of power could be misused if it fell into the wrong hands.

Obi-Wan is standing in a long hallway of the senate building because Senator Amidala has called for him. Well technically she had called for Anakin, the holocall had come straight to Anakin’s private comm channel, bypassing all security, as Padme’s sweet brown eyes had smiled down at him in dangerous affection. She had heard that Anakin and him were taking a break from missions and requested Anakin for lunch in her office.

Anakin had looked at him, his face a mask of deliberate blankness. Obi-Wan wonders if he always looks so cold when he’s trying to hide his emotions. “Don’t listen to anything Padme tells you,” Anakin urges him, “She likes to joke around.”

Obi-Wan builds a rudimentary shield in the style Anakin’s taught him. It’s exhausting, fashioning a new filter for every emotion he feels. He hopes it’s enough to catch the anger-jealousy-guilt he feels. As he’s learned time and time again, he can’t just sink his negativity in the force any longer, the force doesn’t accept emotions from Anakin, demands that they are felt and worked through rather than thrown away.

He’s seen this coming since the day Anakin had met the senator when he was nineteen, bumbling and wide-eyed as he followed the pretty, brilliant senator around, trying to catch her attention. At the time, he’d sworn Padme didn’t return Anakin’s affections in the way the boy so desperately desired, her love for him far more platonic and safe. But, Anakin has grown since then, his hair no longer shorn short in the terrible Padawan cut, his body taut and filled out – as Obi-Wan has _felt._ Anakin is an easy man to love, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the Senator had changed her mind.

She did have Anakin’s personal comm after all.

“ _Ani_ ,” Padme’s face lights up at the sight of him. Her emerald robes sweep behind her elegantly and Obi-Wan briefly wonders if Anakin ever feels underdressed around her. Probably not with the way she looks at him. “Ani, it’s so good to see you. You’ve been hiding at the temple.”

Obi-Wan forces Anakin’s mouth in a smile he hopes looks both parts mischievous and charming. “Padme,” the name sounds foreign on his tongue. He’s unused to the familiarity, “You look lovely.”

Padme laughs, swats at his chest before she rises on her toes to embrace him. Obi-Wan pushes down his bitterness, forces himself to bring Anakin’s arms around her. He has to be open with her, Obi-Wan reminds himself, Anakin trusts her more than he trusts himself. No matter how much he wishes to sometimes, he mustn’t ruin their relationship. Anakin loves her, Obi-Wan tells himself. Anakin loves this strong, beautiful, smart woman, and Obi-Wan, as the man who has raised Anakin since he was a child, must be happy for him.

His own treacherous feelings need to be pushed aside.

“I ordered from that eatery you like,” Padme beams at him, loops an arm through his own as she leads him back towards her office. As they pass, other senators smile at them, dip their head in hello to both Anakin and Padme. With a jolt, Obi-Wan realizes that Anakin has been here many times, is considered a familiar face even. “Hopefully it’ll be enough, I know how hungry you get after you return.”

“What can I say,” Obi-Wan chokes out, “ration bars don’t quite hit the spot.”

Padme guides him through the doors to her office and then, they’re alone. Obi-Wan feels his palms begin to sweat, a telltale sign that he knows – Anakin’s body is nervous. He’d feel much more at ease if Padme would, by some strange turn of fate, explain to him exactly what she expects from him. Does Anakin kiss her? Does he do more with her? Does she except him to make the first move? Obi-Wan curses himself for not asking more questions, but Anakin had been evasive all morning, just repeating that he shouldn’t take anything that Padme says seriously.

He eventually decides that it might just be best to see how things play out and if Padme wondered why he hadn’t jumped her yet, he could always blame himself. _Obi-Wan’s giving me grief Padme, boring me with standard procedures and protocols, I can’t get it up anymore._

But Padme does no such thing. She lets Anakin take a seat on the couch and hands him utensils and a container full of noodles and tender, spiced bantha meat. She takes one for herself and seats herself beside him, tucking her feet up under her. For a moment, neither speak and Obi-Wan admits that the food is far superior to a ration bar.

“So,” Padme swallows a bite, “how’re things with you?”

Obi-Wan shrugs, partly in relief. Polite conversation is something he can manage. “Good. Not much is new really, the war’s still dragging on. More and more planets getting involved, lots of them caught in the middle of a war they didn’t even want to fight in the first place.”

Padme sighs, “I know,” she sounds worried, “Every time it feels like we’re making any headway, we’re right back where we started.” She places a hand on his shoulder, “How are _you_ though, still having trouble sleeping?”

And _oh_. Anakin’s been having trouble sleeping? “I’m alright,” Obi-Wan forces himself to say, his own voice sounding far away. He knows the force around him is tumultuous with his displeasure and unease. Thank goodness Padme isn’t force sensitive. “I’ve been thinking that I should talk to Obi-Wan about it. I don’t know if he can really help too much, but – “

“Oh _thank_ the force,” Padme breaks in. She laughs, “It took you long enough. _Please_ speak to Obi-Wan, you know he only wants the best for you, Anakin. I see the way he looks at you – “

Obi-Wan’s heart stops cold.

“- he cares for you a great deal.”

Padme _knows._

He has to stop himself from letting out a tinge of bitter laughter. Padme knows and Anakin is as oblivious as a lone nerfherder. This woman could ruin his life with a few words in a singular moment of jealousy. He’s infinitely thankful for her patience and levelheadedness. “I know he does,” Obi-Wan tries as a response, and sees the way Padme’s eyebrows fly to her hairline. “He’s just not very good at sharing it.”

“Well,” she says dryly, “someone’s made a great deal of emotional progress lately. I’m glad you finally admit that Obi-Wan cares about something other than the code, which was rude by the way. Any man that’s put up with someone like you for as long as he has, deserves a medal of honor.”

Obi-Wan blinks.

“Speaking of Obi-Wan,” Padme’s voice turns mischievous. She scoops up another mouthful of noodles, smiling around her fork, “Any progress on that front?”

And – _what?_ Just what are Anakin and Padme discussing behind his back? He hears the echo of Anakin’s _don’t listen to anything she says, Padme’s crazy_ in his mind. “I don’t – I – “

“Oh, _Ani_ ,” Padme laughs, “the look on your face every time I bring him up.” She smiles, “You should just tell him, you know. I really don’t think he’s going to turn you in to the council or anything – Obi-Wan strikes me as someone who’s known love before.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry. He looks down at Anakin’s hands, squirms with the mechno-arm as he’s seen Anakin do a million times. “I don’t know if – if that’s such a good idea. Obi-Wan struggles with code like me, but ever since I was young, he’s always wanted to lead by example.”

Padme waves him off, “He tries, but you and I both know he’s not perfect Anakin and he certainly doesn’t expect perfection from you. He won’t think anything less of you, Ani, he’ll probably understand.”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan takes the last bite of his food and stands, itching to get out of this strange place, get back to familiar tranquility of the temple gardens. He feels bile rising in his throat at the thought of Anakin coming to him to tell him that he loved another. “Padme – I – “

“Look,” she sighs, “I’m not trying to force you or anything. But, we’re at war Anakin and you never know what’s going to happen. Why not let yourself be happy while you still have the chance?”

Obi-Wan tosses his container in the trash and turns to face her, trying to calm himself. The force swirls dangerously around him, titters at him in a kind of amused panic as if it’s trying to tell him something. Padme looks as poised as ever, dark eyes shining with fondness.

She wants Anakin to tell Obi-Wan about her and Anakin’s relationship, she wants to try and bridge the gap that’s emerged between him and his padawan, she wants Anakin to be _honest_ with him.

If Obi-Wan wasn’t drowning in his own bitter jealousy, he’d say he understood why Anakin fell in love with this incredible, perceptive woman.

Nonetheless, he’s happy for him. Anakin deserves all the joy in the world.

**. . . . . .**

“Anakin, my boy!”

Obi-Wan almost ignores the Chancellor’s shout until he realizes that _he_ is currently inhabiting Anakin’s body. He almost sighs, but managers to plaster a bright smile on his face that he hopes isn’t too artificial. He holds the lift open so that Palpatine can get in. He’s alone, Obi-Wan notes curiously, the Chancellor’s usual set of guards are absent.

Once the lift doors close, he bows respectfully, “Sir.”

Palpatine smiles, “I’ve told you before, there’s no need for any kind of formality when it’s just us. How’re you Master Skywalker?”

Obi-Wan frowns, “I’m not a Master, sir. Just Knight will do.”

“Nonsense,” Palpatine waves him off, “You’re the Chosen One, my boy, I’ll address you as nothing less than Master. You’re just as capable as the rest of them anyhow.”

The flattery is coming in thick and heavy. Obi-Wan had always been curious as to what Anakin and the Chancellor discussed and it’s so much worse than he had ever imagined. He tips his head respectfully. “Then just Anakin will do, your excellency.”

Palpatine smiles at him, aiming for warmth, but it feels artificial after Padme’s genuine love. There’s something _off_ about the way this elderly man looks at Anakin, like he wants to consume him. Kriff, is Anakin _blind_. “So humble,” he shakes his head ruefully, “I simply don’t see how the other Jedi fault you to be arrogant.”

Obi-Wan shrugs – he’s not sure how to respond to that. No part of Anakin’s day has gone as expected.

The Chancellor frowns at him, like he’s disappointed by the lack of response. “I’ve heard you’ve been grounded, my boy.” The door of the lift chimes to signal they’ve reached the ground floor and the two men step out into the relatively deserted lobby of the Senate building. The hour is still early, most of the Senators either out to lunch or in their offices preparing for their next meeting. Palpatine places a hand on Anakin’s back and Obi-Wan nearly jumps out of his skin. He’d expected physical contact from Padme today, not the kriffing Chancellor. “I hope you’re not in any trouble.”

“No trouble at all, sir,” Obi-Wan grits, “My men need a break, they’ve been fighting almost non-stop for three months now. It’s only temporary after all.”

Palpatine’s expression turns pensive, “Are you sure, Anakin? I would hate to think that this was because your Master underestimate your capabilities.”

True anger flares into the force around him. _How dare he_ , Obi-Wan seethes, _how dare he put words in Obi-Wan’s mouth._ Especially when Obi-Wan thinks the _world_ of Anakin. “My men need a break,” he grits again.

“Oh dear,” Palpatine frowns, “I’m sorry, my boy, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He doesn’t sound sorry, Obi-Wan notes dispassionately. “I was simply thinking aloud.”

“If you don’t mind, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan says hotly, “I have to return to the temple. My master requires me.” He’s letting his anger get the better of him, but Anakin’s anger is apparently nothing new to Palpatine because he only sighs, the pressure of his hand on the small of Anakin’s back increasing a little before he pulls away.

“Of course, my boy. Do give your master my regards. And don’t be too hard on him, Anakin, he’s doing his best.”

**. . . . . .**

Anakin looks up when the door to his quarter is thrown open. He sees himself appear in the door way and he is _seething._ “Rough day, Master?” he asks hesitantly.

Obi-Wan stalks inside, throws himself on the couch in Anakin’s living room in a way that Anakin has often done himself. Sometimes he wonders if more than their force signatures have been switched. “I had a most _enlightening_ afternoon with your politician friends, Anakin.”

Fear grips him for a moment before he’s able to sink it into the force. “Wonderful,” he doesn’t have to fight to keep his voice steady, Obi-Wan’s body seems to have a knack for keeping itself under control in stressful situations.

Obi-Wan gives him a flat look.

“Is –,“ Anakin’s tongue feels like sandpaper, “Did Padme say something? Because I already told you - ”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sounds exasperated, “I already know about _that._ What I’m referring to is a chat I had with your dear friend the _Chancellor_ , who insisted that I had no faith in you or your abilities.” His voice had been steadily climbing in pitch, until by the end of the sentence, Obi-Wan is almost yelling. He blames it, again, on Anakin’s DNA.

Anakin flinches at the sound of his own voice, vows to never raise his tone at Obi-Wan like that again. He keeps his voice dangerously calm as he stalks from the kitchen into the living room. “You know _what_ exactly?”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan repeats, pushes a sense of reassurance through their bond. Anakin feels lightheaded, feels as though he should have prepared for this moment somehow. Rehearsed the different scenarios in his mind so he’d have words ready no matter the outcome. He aches for Obi-Wan to be closer, for him to lower his voice into the soft, sweet tone he misses so much. “I know you and the Senator are…involved. I’m disappointed you feel as though you couldn’t have told me, but I understand why you didn’t all the same. But what the Chancellor said to you was – “

“ _Master_ ,” he interrupts, because this was an outcome he had never predicted. Obi-Wan looks up at him, the irritation of being interrupted once again spelled into his blue eyes “What did Padme tell you exactly?”

He observes Obi-Wan critically, watches the way his shoulders slump and feels his stomach bottom out. Obi-Wan presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, squeezing tight. “Never mind about Padme,” he says, voice low and angry, “Anakin you – you’ve been keep secrets,” he accuses, “secrets _from_ me. _About_ me.”

And oh, this is so much worse than anything Anakin had imagined. He always hoped Obi-Wan would let him down easy, promising that no matter what happened he would always be his master. “No Master,” he denies quickly, “I would never – “

“You would and you _have_ ,” Obi-Wan retorts firmly, “Anakin you’ve been having trouble sleeping for force knows how long. Don’t deny it - Padme asked about it. You’re hiding an illicit relationship. You distrust the council, you distrust _me_. You think I don’t believe in you.” His voice cracks on the last sentence.

There’s a long moment of silence. Anakin can feel his own force presence filling the room in dark desperation and he almost frowns. He’s never noticed how frightening it can be when he’s angry and he’s suddenly very sorry for the all the times Obi-Wan has had to bear the brunt of it. “I don’t think that,” he says weakly.

“ _Anakin,”_ Obi-Wan says again and he sounds anguished, “ _Dear one_. I have failed you entirely.”

Anakin doesn’t know what to do with himself, he’s never been good at offering comfort or support. His master, a man he loves, is almost in tears because of him and he simply doesn’t know what to do. He reaches down gingerly, presses a hand onto Obi-Wan’s head. It’s strange to feels his own curls beneath his fingers, but Obi-Wan leans into the touch, presses his forehead into Anakin’s stomach and drops his hands to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin says quietly, “I’m sorry that the Chancellor said that to you, I really do trust you, I just have trouble talking about everything I’m feeling. The force is – difficult for me to control.”

Obi-Wan sighs, leans back to blink up at him, the final rays of sunset caught in his eyes. “You know, I think I finally understand what the council meant when they said you needed a more experienced master,” he says ruefully, “You would’ve been better off with another. Preferably Qui-Gon of course but – “

And Anakin is shaking his head, combing his fingers through his curls, “No,” he says, projecting all the certainty he can muster, “Never. All I ever needed was you.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head free of Anakin’s grasp and Anakin’s fingers feel empty. He drops the arm back to his side, embarrassed. “You don’t know that, dear one,” Obi-Wan says, voice impossibly soft, “You’ve never known any better. A more experienced Master would’ve taught you better control, would’ve understood that you needed more advanced shielding techniques, would’ve stopped telling you to release your emotions into the force like a _fool._ ”

Anakin swallows bitterly, “You are not the cause of my failures, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan stands then, suddenly. Anakin has to look up to catch his fierce gaze and it makes him ache a little. He misses Obi-Wan as Obi-Wan so desperately that it hurts sometimes. Master Nu had torn the archives inside out to find an answer to their predicament, but there had been nothing in recorded history of the sort.

Master Yoda had simply smacked the both of them across the shin and told them to trust in the force.

“You have failed at nothing, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says firmly. The force around him is purple with determination, no shields in sight, “The force in you is far stronger than anything I have ever seen before. I’m afraid I’m at least partially to blame for the way it overwhelms you, I should’ve been able to recognize that you would need something different instead of insisting you had to adhere to the status quo. A good master would’ve recognized that your side of the bond is all but _dead –_ ”

Anakin lets out a breath he didn’t even know he’d taken. His eyes are stinging and he feels lighter than he has in years. “You were the _best_ master,” he tells Obi-Wan quietly, his sincerity ringing, echoing across their bond. “without you, I would’ve lost my way years ago. I need you. Even now, always – I need you.” He reaches out to pull Obi-Wan into an embrace, the other entering it easily and returning it. “But – so – I’m not – you – you’re not disappointed in me?”

Obi-Wan buries his face in Anakin’s, and consequently his own, neck, wishing to all the force gods and goddess that were listening for them to change back. “Never, my padawan. I’m infinitely proud of you.”

Anakin presses a hesitant kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple and they’re silent for a long time, locked in an embrace that feels years overdue. The force glows in happiness and warmth around them, singing in relief. 

“Master?”

Anakin feels Obi-Wan hum in response.

“Me and Padme aren’t dating.”

**. . . . . .**

“A sith holocron, this is not.”

Anakin chokes on something invisible and he can feel Obi-Wan’s amusement at the action. “Well it’s certainly not a Jedi holocron now is it, Master Yoda?”

Yoda narrows his eyes at Anakin like he’s just said the stupidest thing in the entire galaxy. Anakin shrinks back, biting his tongue. Yoda’s green ears twitch, “Not so black and white, everything is. About the force much you have to learn, young Skywalker.”

Anakin rolls his eyes, makes a circular motion with one finger at his temple. It’s most unbecoming of Obi-Wan’s self, he knows, but he lives for the way Obi-wan bits Anakin’s lip in an effort to control his laughter, eyes dancing in mirth.

A sharp crack of the gimer stick to his shins makes Anakin yelp. Obi-Wan coughs in an effort to smother his cackle.

“Funny you think this is, hmm?”

“Er – ,“ Anakin struggles to focus, “no, Master Yoda. I guess I’m mostly just confused. Master Nu said you had important information on the nature of the artifact which would help us reverse its effect. If it’s not a sith holocron, then – “

Yoda looks a bit like a miffed tooka as he sniffs like Anakin is a bad smell. “Look like Obi-Wan, you might, for the present, but lack you do, his presence of mind. This,” he thrusts the artifact into Anakin’s hand. “Dangerous force magic it is. Ancient. Before the force split into the dark and the light, created it was. Perhaps older than the galaxy itself, it is. And now, chosen you, it has.” Yoda turns away, eyes closed like he’s deep in concentration, “ _Foolish_ it is.”

It’s Obi-Wan who steps up now, making Anakin’s voice sound far older and knowledgeable. “Incredible,” he breathes, his fingers durasteel twitching up to rub against the phantom of a beard, “So this holocron is _ambivalent._ ” He looks to Yoda who nods in agreement. “But,” his eyes shift from the holocron that Anakin is currently holding to Anakin, who is hiding behind Obi-Wan’s face, “what does it want with us?”

Anakin hates the way Yoda always looks like he has all the answers, but insists on concealing them. If he didn’t know any better he’d think Yoda did it on purpose.

Yoda cackles once, loudly, “Only by a struggling master and apprentice, can it be opened. Within yourself you two must look, the answer you already have to reverse the process. Balance, it wants.”

**. . . . . .**

“I’m going to fight him,” Anakin mutters to Obi-wan as they walk towards Dex’s for dinner. “One day, I hope we can meet other members of his species and discover that they all have a normal speech pattern just so I can prove that Master Yoda really is a freak.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, holds open the door to the diner for him. “Come now, Anakin, let’s not be presumptuous. Maybe they’ll assume you’re the freak.”

“Har-har.”

**. . . . . .**

Four weeks pass.

Anakin almost gets used to the way Obi-Wan’s body aches more than his after a sparring session, his gentle force signature hanging over him like a blanket, the feeling of two flesh hands, and the way his pale skin burns red on a hot Coruscant day.

“ _Sun-screen_ ,” Obi-Wan had hissed at him once, eyeing another sunburn with disgust, “Ever heard of it, my young padawan?”

But the ache for Obi-Wan never goes away. Because. It’s. Not the same.

Anakin can stand under a spray of warm water, pulling at the length of Obi-Wan’s cock all he likes, but it’s not the same as if he were able to press a durasteel hand to Obi-Wan’s hip, push him against the wall, curl his flesh hand around his cock, and kiss him breathless. Not that Anakin has ever been allowed that opportunity. Still, this feels like a cheapened version of sex with Obi-Wan and Anakin aches for the real thing now more than ever.

It doesn’t help that while in Anakin’s body, Obi-Wan is the picture of self-control. He’s charming, bringing out Anakin’s features with the way he carries himself. Anakin’s positive that’s why Padme calls on him so much, Obi-Wan really is far better company than him. Much more pleasant, less prone to erratic outbursts. Anakin would be jealous if it weren’t for the fact that Obi-Wan had shyly told him one morning that Anakin’s end of the bond was more lit now, he was able to use it as a beacon to guide himself out of the whirlwind that was Anakin’s mind. The force flowed between them with a new sense of harmony and peace.

Anakin can feel it now. He thins out Obi-Wan’s shields enough to project his happiness across the chain, thrumming with life as it is. He feels Obi-Wan accept, sending back a _You’re far too happy to be up to anything worthwhile._ He stretches lazily at the thought, sits up in his bed. It’s far too late of an hour to still be in his quarters, almost high noon, but he gets so few days off since the war had begun that he’d decided to enjoy his days and let Obi-Wan’s body get the sleep it so desperately needed.

Besides, from what word he’d caught from 79’s, he’d heard that the 501st and 212th weren’t handling the vacation too badly either.

There’s a rap at his door then, a staccato of knuckles against the hard wood. That’s strange. Anakin doesn’t have a lot of visitors and Obi-Wan never knocks even if he gets testy about Anakin entering without permission.

“Coming,” he calls, stumbling to his feet. He struggles for his robes as an afterthought, knows how much Obi-Wan likes to keep up his dignified appearance. He glances in the mirror, Obi-wan’s auburn hair a disarray on his head and curses. Not nearly enough time to fix that. He’s suddenly glad Obi-Wan’s not at the door because he’s sure he’d get a stern talking to.

He blinks as he swings the door open, the sleep suddenly draining from his eyes. “Master Windu.”

Mace Windu nods at him in greeting, looking immaculately put together in neatly pressed robes. The force is swirling strangely around him, like he’s not sure what to do with himself. He’s not even eyeing Anakin in disapproval for so clearly stumbling out of bed. “Would you like to spar?”

“You do know I’m not actually Obi-Wan right,” Anakin replies, leaning against the door, “I know you two are friends and I’m flattered but – “

“Skywalker,” Windu interrupts him. And there’s the familiar glare of annoyance. “I’ll see you in a training room in ten minutes.” He turns, not waiting for a response, and sweeps down the hall, no doubt wanting to intimidate as many younglings as possible along the way.

Anakin curses again as he stumbles blindly to the refresher; he has to do Obi-wan’s hair.

**. . . . . .**

Mace Windu’s Vaapad is a fearsome thing to be behold.

Anakin’s spent so long sparring against Obi-Wan’s calmer, defensive stance that he’s almost forgotten that some of the other masters in the temple prefer a more aggressive stance like he does. Of course, there’s aggressive, and then there’s _Windu._

He’s disarmed a lot faster than he’d like to admit, saber skittering away from him. Obi-Wan’s body and force connection doesn’t mend well to his fighting style. Maybe it was a good thing that they’d been grounded.

Windu looks at him, seemingly frustrated, forehead shining with sweat. His arm moves the unyielding, purple saber away from Anakin’s neck. “Again,” he breathes, voice harsh.

Anakin studies him for a moment as they step back, re-enter their starting stances. Windu seems off-center, angry, and he remembers what Obi-wan had once told him after Anakin had pissed off Mace Windu one too many times. _Anger doesn’t unbalance him,_ Anakin can hear Obi-Wan’s warm voice, _it fuels him._

He clears his throat as they circle one another again, Windu seemingly waiting to see which one of them would break into attack first. “Are you – alright, Master Windu?”

“Focus, Skywalker. You’re getting sloppy,” Windu snaps at him.

And focus Anakin does, body slipping into Obi-Wan’s preferred Soresu. This time, he manages to lay Windu flat against the training mat, his lightsaber pointed directly at his throat. Windu’s own purple blade powered down at his side. 

Windu smiles up at him wryly. “The only thing that makes this bearable is you wearing Kenobi’s face right now.”

Anakin steps back, powers down his blade. He bows, respectfully, albeit a bit awkwardly. He’s still not sure why he’s here. His clothes stick uncomfortably to his back with sweat and he watches as Windu gets to his feet, calls his lightsaber back to him from Anakin’s hold.

“I want you to talk to your Master, _really_ talk to him” Windu tells him. Of all the things Anakin was expecting, this wasn’t one of them. “The council has seen the way you two have drifted apart recently. And whatever the cause is, Skywalker, take it from me, it’s not worth it.”

Anakin blinks. His mind supplies him with a thought of Depa Billaba, who has been floating in a bacta tank for the last four months. The temple had shook with Master Windu’s sorrow those first few days. He swallows his tongue, “Yes, Master Windu.”

Mace blinks at him and suddenly he looks so much older, the hunch of his shoulders no longer powerful. “You are allowed to love, Skywalker.”

Anakin feels his stomach drop out from under him.

“You know that right?” Windu continues as if Anakin isn’t having an aneurysm in front of him. “It’s part of what it means to be alive. It’s unhealthy attachment that we must be wary of. While it’s true that one often leads to the other, I have full faith that Obi-Wan will be able to handle this well. You - Skywalker, not so much, but I know you’ll follow your Master’s lead as always.” There’s something deeply knowing in the look Mace Windu’s is giving him right now, an edge of tragedy in the hollow look in his eyes

Anakin looks down at his lightsaber, turns it over in Obi-Wan’s hand. “Does Obi-Wan know you’re telling me this?”

Windu snorts. He walks to the edge of the room and fills his container with water from the tap. “For everything Obi-Wan does know, there’s a lot he doesn’t.”

Anakin nods, still a little dumbstruck, and follows Windu’s example in getting water. They both drink deeply for a minute. Mace breaks the silence once again. Clearly he’s not done pulling the world out from Anakin’s feet.

“Don’t mess this up, Skywalker. For my sake.”

**. . . . . .**

Obi-Wan blinks at him when Anakin tells him he wants to get drinks.

His brow furrows in an expression that’s just so Obi-Wan that Anakin aches to see it on his real face again. “What are we celebrating?”

Anakin shrugs, “Do we need an excuse to drink?”

He watches as Obi-Wan’s face turn a little helpless. He knows all about his master’s weakness for Corellian whiskey. “I suppose not,” Obi-Wan frowns then. “What brought this on, Anakin?”

Anakin has to stop himself from reaching out to smooth the wrinkle between his eyebrows with his fingers. It should probably be considered a strange thought, considering he’s thinking this about his own face, but Obi-Wan is still Obi-Wan no matter what he looks like. And Anakin wants him – always. “I had a long talk with Master Windu,” he admits.

Obi-Wan’s eyes turn sad. Anakin will never get over how _soft_ Obi-Wan makes him look. “I do hope Mace is alright. He hasn’t been the same since Depa’s accident. I better go check on him since he’s apparently talking to _you_ of all people.”

“Hey,” Anakin complains, but there’s no heat behind his words.

Obi-Wan smiles down at him, “I’ll see you tonight then, dear one. 8 o’clock.”

**. . . . . .**

They end up at a small, but relatively hip, tavern a few levels below the temple. The crowd is exclusive enough not to turn their heads at two well-known Jedi, but sufficiently intoxicated enough to not ignore them entirely.

Obi-Wan peels the hand of an admittedly, very pretty, Togruta woman from his thigh as he scans the bar for Anakin. He’d promised to bring them back their second round of drinks, but Obi-Wan doesn’t see him amidst the crowd of bodies, only the soft pulse of his force presense reassuring him that Anakin is, indeed, nearby. He almost sighs aloud at the young woman, who looks heartbroken, but he’s far too old for her anyway, no matter what he looks like at the moment.

Not that Anakin is much older than her. But, it’s different somehow, not the same. Their experiences are too similar; they see the world from the same angle. At least, that’s what Obi-Wan tells himself when he goes to bed at night.

“How come I never get so much attention when we got out?” Anakin appears from behind him, his voice has a distinct Coruscanti accent. Obi-Wan really does sigh this time, it doesn’t make him shiver the way Anakin’s rougher tone does, but he’ll just have to settle for knowing that Anakin is here with him.

Obi-Wan returns his easy smile as Anakin takes a seat on the stool beside him. They hadn’t been able to secure a table and so had settled for the barstools near the window at the back of the bar. “Because I’m far more charming than you, padawan.”

Anakin snorts, sliding over Obi-Wan’s drink. “You’re in my body.”

“I didn’t say I was better looking,” Obi-Wan points out, “I simply suggested I carry myself in a more dignified manner, one that people clearly appreciate.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Anakin waves him off, “I’m the beauty, you’re the brains.” He takes a sip of his drink, eyes watching Obi-Wan carefully over the rim of his glass. Obi-Wan flushes from the attention, drops his gaze back to the drink he’s nursing.

“Now I didn’t say that,” he says, sounding mildly outraged. “I’m not so – “

Anakin quirks an eyebrow, and a low heat licks up Obi-Wan’s spine, “You’re not so bad yourself?” He completes. Anakin reaches over, places a hand on Obi-Wan’s thigh where the young togruta had. Obi-Wan wouldn’t think of moving it. “I mean it’s true,” Anakin continues, drops his voice low enough Obi-Wan has to strain to hear him over the music, “Not like you can hide from me when I’m you.”

And there’s his out, Obi-Wan can take it if he so pleases, make a joke about Anakin’s physique and the whole thing would be behind them. He doesn’t think Anakin will try again and maybe Obi-Wan will actually have to watch him with Padme. “I could say the same about you,” he finds himself saying instead. He swallows his nerves, “A tad young for my taste, but nothing I couldn’t work with.”

Anakin blinks at him and Obi-Wan watches with fascination as his cheeks burn ruddy with a blush. “ _Master,”_ he breathes, all pretense of joking gone.

Obi-Wan feels his pants tighten embarrassingly, blames it on the twenty-two-year-old body he’s currently inhabiting. “Anakin,” he says, forcing his voice to be steady. It’s a warning, but a futile one. Anakin’s part time job is disobeying his direct orders.

“I think I understand why that artifact switched us,” Anakin replies, throwing Obi-Wan for a loop. It wasn’t the direction he’d thought this conversation was going, but then Anakin leans over and grips his collar, hauling Obi-Wan closer. “It’s so I could do this and feel what it does to you.”

And then – they’re kissing, hot and wet. There are bodies brushing past them to get to their seats and drinks, curious bodies no doubt, but Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to care. It’s strange, knowing that the bristle against his cheeks is the feeling of his own beard, but Anakin’s body seems to like it. And if the soft, broken sounds Anakin is making against his mouth are any indication, Obi-Wan’s body definitely likes this too.

It’s only when Obi-Wan feels Anakin slide his hand further up his thigh, that he reluctantly pulls back. There’s a hand in his hair, tugging, and _oh -_ judging by how that makes Anakin’s body shiver, that’s the first thing Obi-Wan will be doing when they switch back.

“Anakin,” he breathes roughly, as Anakin presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth. He feels like a man possessed. “Not here, dear one _._ ”

Anakin _whines,_ the sound coming from deep within his chest. Obi-Wan didn’t even know he could make that noise. But nonetheless, he releases his death grip and settles back into his seat obediently. He looks shaken, but placated, and Obi-Wan helplessly thinks that this was the fastest he’s gotten Anakin to listen to something he’s said. In what other ways could he make Anakin listen –

“I’ve thought about this every day for the past six weeks,” Anakin admits, “Every time I’m in the refresher, a hand around your – “

Obi-Wan leans over to cover his mouth in shock. He can see his own eyes flitting between both of Anakin’s, dark and hungry. Obi-Wan’s had sex before, but he’s never looked in a mirror after the deed and seen such desire in his eyes before. “Anakin,” he says again, and the name tastes so much different now, “What do you think I meant when I said not here? Besides,” he releases Anakin slowly, making sure that he’ll stay silent. “I thought we agreed that _that_ was an invasion of privacy.”

Anakin’s hands are flexing against his trousers, wrinkling the material in a way that Obi-Wan would normally find irritating. Now he’s just pleased he’s gotten Anakin so shook up. “Oh _please_ ,” Anakin drags his words, “Like you haven’t done the same. Anyway – “

Obi-wan flushes and he knows his desire-sheepish-guilt is coloring the force.

“ – can you blame a guy? Do you know what you _look_ like? _Force_ , don’t even get me started on the _sounds – “_

Obi-Wan stands, his resolve cracking. He’s pulling Anakin to his feet before he’s even conscious of he’s doing. “Come,” he says, and he hopes he doesn’t sound as wrecked as he feels, “We’re going back to the temple, dear one.”

**. . . . . .**

“Not with my mechno-hand,” Anakin gripes, flat on his back in Obi-Wan’s bed. “That hurts, use your other hand.”

“Hush,” Obi-wan mutters, switching hands grumpily, “I can’t be held responsible for your lack of control.”

“ _Lack of control_? C’mere old man, and I’ll show you – “

Obi-wan freezes, the world spinning, and suddenly he’s the one flat on his back, both hands flesh where they grip Anakin’s waist.

Anakin looks down at where his durasteel hand is pressed against the sheets, the other hand around Obi-Wan’s cock.

“Huh,” he muses, “That was weird.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, reaching up to tug Anakin in for a kiss by a handful of his curls. As he expected, Anakin makes a broken noise against his mouth, hips pulsing downward. “Good,” he hums against Anakin’s mouth, “I was rather hoping our first time wouldn’t be quite so strange. Now, we should probably inform Master Yoda that - ”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin groans and Obi-Wan fights back a grin, “ _please_ just fuck me.”

**. . . . . .**

The next morning when they inform Master Yoda that everything has indeed gone back to normal, the green troll just smiles. If Anakin didn’t know any better, he’d have said that Yoda’s expression looked more unhinged than ever, smile positively manic. But he does know better, as Obi-Wan reminds him constantly, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“In harmony, the force is,” Yoda says, “More light, I sense. Found Balance, we might have.”

Anakin rolls his eyes, eager to make his way out of the meeting room. Obi-Wan had promised him very tempting incentives if he finished all of his archive responsibilities for the day and he very much intended to do so. As he stalks down the hallway, past the Halls of Healing, he sees Mace Windu slip out of the room.

_Visiting Depa._

He feels an unknown emotion build in his throat and stops to bow, “Master Windu.”

Windu looks at him for a second, nothing slipping by his keen senses. “Skywalker,” he says at once, “glad to see that you’re you again.”

Anakin straightens, grins, “Are you really?”

“There was the slight hope that we’d be left with two Obi-Wan’s,” Mace says ruefully, like he’s truly disappointed at the loss, “but I’ll have to accept that not all wishes come true.”

Anakin feels as though this would’ve wounded him previously, a lifetime ago, but now, his smile only softens. “How is she?”

Windu freezes, clearly not anticipating the question. Anakin wonders for a moment how often he gets asked it, gets the opportunity to speak about her. “She’s – stable,” Windu offers, “Bant says she should be waking up any day now, but she’s been saying that for three months.” He shakes his head, “We shall see.”

And suddenly, Anakin _does_ see, the force pushing Depa’s voice to him, a code, an _alternate_ code, falling from her lips as she rises –

“She will,” Anakin says. “She’s going to wake up soon, I know it.”

Windu looks at him critically for a moment. “For your sake, I hope that you’re right.”

“I am,” Anakin says confidently, firmly, “You’re going to see her again, Master. It is the will of the force itself.”

And – _relief –_ that’s the only word Anakin can use – floods across Windu’s face. Pure, unaltered, relief. Mace crosses the threshold, clearly on the way to the training rooms, probably to intimidate some more initiates. He grips Anakin’s shoulder on the way, fingers tightening as he squeezes once. “Thank you, Anakin.”

Anakin watches him leave for a moment, the click of his heel down the hall. Mace Windu will probably always be a mystery to him, at least partially, but he has more to thank the man for now. The previous bitterness of rejection has miraculously turned into a tentative understanding.

“So,” Obi-Wan’s voice filters from the other end of the corridor and Anakin nearly breaks his neck with how fast he turns. His master smiles at him, gray eyes crinkling with the force of it, the sun bouncing off his auburn beard. “I take it gundarks do really fly then.”

The force hums between them, the bond a shining light through the storm in Anakin’s mind that doesn’t seem quite as difficult to maneuver as he remembers. He grins, crosses the few feet of distance separating them. “They always have, Master,” Anakin says. He slings an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders pulling him in the direction of the archives. If he’s going to be bored all day, Obi-Wan is certainly going to join him. “You really don’t know anything at all do you?”

Obi-Wan hums, “No, dear one, I suppose I don’t.”

**. . . . . .**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the sex out because it didn't fit the ~ vibe ~ but if you'd like to read some soft dom!Obi-Wan fucking I-definitely-don't-have-a-praise-kink!Anakin please let me know and I'll add it as an extra chapter or something LOL. 
> 
> EDIT 10/4/20: It has been added - Chapter 2 is JUST sex, it has no addition to the plot at all, so if you'd like to skip it, then by all means feel free to do so :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the missing sex scene with soft-dom!Obi-Wan and praise-kink!Anakin that I promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was already written when I posted the original story. I had simply taken it out because it didn't really fit and since it was going to be a chapter of it's own, I figured why not make it slightly more gratuitous LOL 
> 
> (I'm not super proficient at writing sex, proceed at your own caution)
> 
> And if it wasn't clear warning for explicit, sexual content! And I mean absolutely explicit, explicit!

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin groans and Obi-Wan fights back a grin, “ _please_ just fuck me.”

Obi-Wan tuts, chuckling lightly as he slides a hand down Anakin’s back. Anakin ruts against him desperately. They’re both already naked from the rushed stripping, skin slick, and buzzed from the alcohol. Anakin thinks that he’s actually going to burst if Obi-Wan doesn’t do something soon. His master’s skin is sweet and salty under his mouth, the planes of his body exactly as he remembers from the refresher mirrors.

It feels _so_ good to be himself again, touching Obi-Wan like he’s always craved. He buries his face in Obi-Wan’s neck, the familiar beard tickling his temple, as Obi-Wan continues to draw lazy circles on his back. The movement is languid, like they have all the time in the world.

“I’ve – I’ve wanted this for _so_ long,” Anakin admits quietly, voice thick, taking advantage of the calm before the storm, “You have no idea. I’ve never wanted _anyone_ like – “

The words are simply falling out of him.

Thankfully, he doesn’t get the chance to further embarrass himself because Obi-Wan shushes him softly, cupping his cheeks so they’re facing each other. Anakin looks into Obi-Wan’s gray eyes and gets a sweet kiss on his forehead for it. He feels himself go absolutely boneless at the sheer affection in the simple touch. “Dear one,” Obi-Wan says to him in return, “There has simply never been anyone else for me.”

“This is all thanks to Mace Windu, isn’t it?”

He watches in fascination as Obi-Wan’s nose wrinkles, his cheeks red, “Now there’s a name I don’t need to hear in this situation.”

“Then make me say _yours_ , old man.”

Anakin feels like man drugged.

Obi-Wan laughs, pulls him closer, and kisses him soundly. Anakin feels himself being rolled over, the weight of Obi-Wan pressing into him, twining their hands together before resting them firmly by Anakin’s head. There’s a knee pushing unhurriedly between his thighs and - “ _C’mon_ Obi-Wan,” Anakin whines, his body betraying him as he grinds down, desperately seeking the friction that he absolutely needs right now. “Hurry up, old man.”

“Hush,” Obi-Wan murmurs against his mouth, voice firm, “I don’t want to hear another word from you tonight.”

Anakin nearly swallows his tongue because this is _so_ much better than anything his poor force visions could’ve offered him. “Yeah,” he nods, reverently, “Yeah, okay.”

Obi-Wan snorts like he expected nothing less from him. “ _Quiet_ , dear one,” he warns again, and Anakin, who’s never agreeable enough to listen to a simple warning from his master, shuts his mouth.

“Good,” Obi-Wan mutters. He presses a kiss to Anakin’s jaw, trails his mouth down his neck to his collarbone, teeth gently worrying the skin as he goes. He releases Anakin’s hands to brush fingers down his ribs, one hand continuing further down, down, _down_ , and circling Anakin’s length. Anakin shocks off the bed, the only thing keeping him in place is Obi-Wan’s firm hand, spread across his sternum. “You are simply striking, dear one.”

Anakin feels heat pooling in the base of his spine, fingers empty, clutching air, where they still rest by his head. His tongue feels too heavy for his mouth, the pace at which Obi-Wan is stroking him far, far too _slow_ , he needs more, more, _more –_

Obi-Wan noses at his collarbone again, faint amusement dancing in the force around him. He presses a last kiss to the base of Anakin’s neck. “What would you like? Do you want to continue like this or do you want to turn over for me?”

And _–_

Anakin’s scrambling before Obi-Wan’s even finished his sentence, almost sliding against the sheets in his haste. He’s been with men before, but never with anyone like Obi-Wan. He wonders briefly, foolishly, if Obi-Wan’s meticulous planning continues even off the battlefield.

“ _Sweetheart_ ,” comes the groan from behind him. Anakin feels a thrill race down his spine. He hasn’t heard that particular endearment before and he promises that he’s going to spend the rest of his life trying to pull it out of Obi-Wan as often as he possibly can.

Anakin pushes up on his hands and knees, holds his breath as he feels Obi-Wan shift behind him, his knees bracketing Anakin’s own, encasing him. A warm chest settles over his back then, the hand returning to grip his cock, as more kisses are dotted to the knobs of his spine. This time, he has to fight to bite back the curse rising in his chest as Obi-Wan pulls him off, settling instead for a soft hiccupping noise that he knows is not as conscious as he’d like to admit.

Obi-Wan reaches over, grasps Anakin’s hand where it’s desperately fisting the sheets, intertwining their fingers. The hand around his cock leaves to press a question against his entrance and - _oh_. Anakin feels fire race down his spine at the touch, a litany of _please, please, please_ echoing against their bond.

Obi-Wan’s voice is rough and Anakin savors the thought of making him sound like that. “Have you done this before, Anakin?”

Anakin leans down to press his forehead against the pillow and he nods, voice broken as he feels Obi-Wan press a slicked finger in him. He’s not even sure when, or where, the bacta came from. “Uh – yeah, _yes_ ,” he says, muffled, yelping when a sharp smack against his backside leaves his left cheek stinging. “Hey, _you_ asked me the question,” he complains, even though he’s absolutely _not_ complaining. 

He feels Obi-Wan smile against the skin on the back of his neck, the bond between them flooded with desire-want-love. Anakin bites his lip hard enough to draw blood as Obi-Wan opens him up, painstakingly careful, diligent in everything he does. Anakin can only imagine what he looks like, grasping at the sheets tighter before the image the forces pushes to him in answer makes him come undone.

But Obi-Wan’s bed smells like him, all soft wood and spiced tea, his skin warm where he’s still pressed reassuringly into Anakin. His beard prickles against his neck as Obi-Wan continues to mumble nonsense - _doing so well_ ; _that feels good, doesn’t it; the things you do to me Anakin._ Anakin tries desperately to hold onto a semblance of control, but when Obi-Wan’s fingers crook into _that_ spot, there’s absolutely _nothing_ stopping Anakin from crying out and simply toppling over, spilling out onto the sheets, breathing uneven _–_

Embarrassment turns the force pink around him.

This time, Obi-Wan laughs, the sound bright and brilliant in the darkened room. He leans back until he’s kneeling behind Anakin and pulls his fingers out. Anakin feels the blood rushing to his cheeks and he’s thankful that they’ve switched back in time for this. Unlike Obi-Wan’s pale freckled skin, his complexion gives away nothing in the semi-darkness of the quarters.

“Not my fault,” he huffs after a minute, finally coherent enough, “I’m _twenty-two,_ okay and you were all _be quiet, Anakin, let me take care of you, Anakin, I want to fuck you until you can’t breathe, Anakin_ – .“ He’s forced to choke back the words though, because Obi-Wan takes this moment to enter him in a singular, smooth motion.

For the first, long moment, it’s uncomfortable – Anakin feels stretched and full around Obi-Wan’s cock in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He faintly realizes that Obi-Wan is trembling behind him with the effort not to move. And _force,_ the sheer depths of Obi-Wan’s desire twanging across their bond makes his head spin and he can feel his cock twitch in renewed interest.

The fullness passes fairly quickly, orgasm making Anakin more pliant than he suspects he usually is.

Obi-Wan pulls him up to his knees by a gentle hand around his throat, doesn’t stop until his back is pressed flush against his chest. There’s a kiss pressed behind his ear, another three on his cheeks. “Are you alright, Anakin?” Obi-Wan’s voice is soft in his ear, promising safety and warmth and love. “Do you want to stop?”

Anakin shakes his head, struggling to breathe.

“Do you want to turn around?”

Anakin shakes his head again, turning his head to catch his master’s mouth in another kiss. “No, _please,_ ” he mumbles, “Please. Kriff, _Master_.” He’s not even sure what he’s asking for exactly.

“I know,” Obi-Wan murmurs against his cheek. He pulls back experimentally and fucks back into him. The move is careful, calculated, but Anakin can’t hold back the whine that tears itself from his throat. The bond rings with triumph. “I know, Anakin. I’ve got you.”

Anakin whines again, blood rushing between his legs once more. He pushes his hips back to meet Obi-Wan’s next thrust and this time, Anakin hears Obi-Wan swear in what definitely sounds like Mando’a. “ _Master_ ,” he says again and the word seems to break Obi-Wan entirely.

Anakin is shoved down unceremoniously, the hand leaving his throat to curl into his hair and hold him down against the pillow. And _yes, yes, yes –_ this – _this_ – is what he wanted. Anakin screws his eyes shut against the onslaught of emotions rippling across their bond, gasping wetly. The overstimulation is quickly giving way to pleasure as Obi-Wan drives into him over and over and _over_ and _over_ –

He loses track of all time, incoherent, almost sobbing. The angle lets his cock drag against the bed, a maddening addition to the way Obi-Wan is fucking him. It feels like the force is bending around him, can only imagine the things he must be projecting. The chronometer could say that they were fifty years in the future and he would’ve believed it. Obi-Wan’s making soft noises behind him, quiet words of praise falling from his lips _– you look stunning dear one, you feel so good, love you Anakin_.

Anakin pushes back against him as much as his bones allow, sheets sticking to him with sweat. “ _Master,”_ he gasps once more purposefully, can feel what the word does to Obi-Wan once again, his thrusts suddenly getting sloppy.

Obi-Wan shushes him brokenly, pulls him back by his hair so Anakin is arched against him. “ _Anakin_ ,” there’s a warning his word, broken as his voice may be, but it’s completely betrayed by the way he reaches to curl a hand around Anakin’s length, stroking. This time, Anakin doesn’t even feel guilty for coming, going slack in Obi-Wan’s arms as pleasure rips through him for the second time, overstimulation finally making itself firmly known. 

Anakin squirms halfheartedly. “Too much,” he says, batting away Obi-Wan’s hand from him, “too much, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan huffs a faint breath of laughter in his ear before he pulls away and pulls out. Anakin feels empty at the loss of him, but then he’s frowning because Obi-Wan didn’t get to finish. He’s about to open his mouth to voice his displeasure, when both of Obi-Wan’s hands bury themselves in Anakin’s unruly curls. There’s a gentle tug, Anakin’s scalp prickling in pleasure, as Obi-Wan urges him off the bed.

Anakin goes wordlessly, understanding, and drops to his knees at the side of the bed like a marionette with its strings cut. He balls his hands into fists on his thighs because he’s simply not sure what to do with them – he wasn’t _told_ what to do with them.

Obi-Wan swings his feet off the bed, trapping him with his thighs. Then, he stops for a minute, eyes flickering over Anakin’s face in a nonverbal question, seeking assurance. Anakin opens his mouth, meets Obi-Wan’s prodding in the force with his certainty, and exhales deeply as he’s guided back onto Obi-Wan’s cock by his hair. He hears a soft sigh of pleasure escape Obi-Wan as Anakin wraps his lips around him, careful to avoid his teeth.

He feels the grip on his hair loosen enough for him to bob up and down at his own pace, tongue pressing into the underside of Obi-Wan’s cock, swirling around the head, doing whatever he can, whatever he thinks Obi-Wan might like. And for a few minutes, there’s nothing in the room except for the soft, wet sounds of Anakin’s mouth and the faint rasp of Obi-Wan’s labored breathing.

“ _Anakin,”_ Obi-Wan says above him, “look at you, dear one.”

And _force_ , it’s the way Obi-Wan _talks_ – all gentle nicknames and sweet words of filthy praise – that has Anakin pushing himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he sucks Obi-Wan down as far as he possibly can.

Obi-Wan inhales sharply, smooths a hand down the side of Anakin’s face and cups his jaw. The hand in his hair tugs ever so slightly, encouraging Anakin down the last few centimeters – _holding_ him there – as Obi-Wan’s cock slips into his throat. Anakin chokes, swallows around the length of him, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

He would stay here forever, Anakin thinks absurdly, actually forever, if Obi-Wan kept looking at him like that. He struggles to swallow again, Obi-Wan rocking his hips gently, fucking his length back and forth in Anakin’s mouth, cock twitching against his tongue. He’s close, Anakin knows.

And sure enough, just as the thought crosses his mind –

“ _Sweetheart_ ,” his master breathes, holding Anakin still as he gags, “I’m going to –“

And with a broken sound, Anakin is swallowing down Obi-Wan’s release, chest heaving as he instinctively attempts to pull his head back. But his master simply holds him firm for a few more seconds, let’s Anakin gag and choke around him a moment longer, before finally – _finally –_ pulling out with a deep groan.

Satisfaction echoes across the bond for a moment, love making it brighter and fuller.

Obi-Wan drops to his knees beside Anakin at once, gathers him close, and kisses him soundly. Anakin is trembling, but so is Obi-Wan, so he doesn’t feel too bad about it. 

“I love you,” Anakin tells him when he pulls back for a breath. It feels important, even though he knows Obi-Wan knows. Obi-Wan has always known. “Master, I love you.”

Obi-Wan’s tone is impossibly fond when he responds, gray eyes crinkling up into little half-moons as he smiles, “And I you, dear one. Even though you’ve completely ruined my sheets.”

“Oops,” Anakin says, not sorry in the slightest. He steals another kiss, Obi-Wan humming contentedly against his mouth. “Can I fuck you next time?”

Obi-Wan’s answering laugh glows in the darkness, and Anakin is rewarded with another kiss to his forehead. _Force_ , he could really get used to this. “Yes.”

“You might have to tell me that I’m doing a good job.”

“Naturally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O.O <\- my bf's face when I asked him to proofread this for me (Ahsoka's too probably, as she frantically built mental shields)

**Author's Note:**

> I love you all for reading! Come find me on Tumblr (I'm unfortunate17 on there too!) if you want to chat. Apologies again if everyone was OOC, I'll continue tweaking the characterizations to feedback. I'm also sorry for the title. 
> 
> \- Safaa x.


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